Li Daoxuan dragged the crate into the center of the living room, leaving a generous clearing all around it—as if preparing a stage for some grand opening ceremony.
He tapped the Expand button.
A burst of dazzling light flared—so bright that even Dao Xuan Tianzun himself had to squint. He blinked once, twice… and by the time he opened his eyes again, the crate had grown.
Length: doubled.
Width: doubled.
Depth: mercifully unchanged.
Now it stood five meters long, three meters wide—an oversized monster of a crate. Luckily, he could still reach the bottom if he leaned over the edge. Small blessings.
More importantly, the moment it expanded, his vision exploded outward—a thousand meters by six hundred meters of panoramic Ming-era ultrawide screen.
The entire Gaojia Fortress swung into view, along with the surrounding satellite villages, the Workshop, the prison, military camp, cavalry barracks—everything.
Li Daoxuan felt a wave of satisfaction so intense it almost needed a soundtrack.
But after satisfaction comes reality…
The living room was completely full.
So next time the Rescue Index increases and gives another Expand?
Yeah. Zero space.
There was only one answer:
Buy a house.
He had started as a freelance designer barely scraping enough together—with six wallets and a dream—to rent a tiny apartment in Shuangqing City. Buying a home? Never dared to consider it.
Then the crate arrived.
Then micro-carvings.
Then videos.
Then money.
Now… buying a villa didn't feel impossible. Actually… it sounded comfortable.
If the crate kept growing, he might as well go all in: get a giant place with a giant yard, plop the crate down outside, and boom—massive divine viewing radius.
So yes: a villa.
One place popped into his head immediately:
Zhaomu Mountain.
Where Shuangqing's flashiest villas gathered like peacocks in mating season.
Not something you browse on Taobao.
This needed a personal visit.
Li Daoxuan swept over Gaojia Village from above—everything stable.
Bai Yuan was busy forming the new militia.
Mr. Wang was helping the county magistrate run work-relief projects.
Gao Yiye and the Third Madam were leading hopeful believers in sculpting an enormous statue of Dao Xuan Tianzun.
All peaceful.
He could leave for a short while.
He stepped outside, flagged a ride, and headed for the biggest real-estate agency near Zhaomu Mountain.
The evening sunset bled across the sky.
He was still checking flooring, beams, garden drains—unable to return home.
Meanwhile…
Bai Yuan returned to the bookstore, cheerful, flanked by two Bai-family retainers.
Gao Yiye arrived at the same moment with her group of Gaojia Militia members—including Flat-Rabbit and Zheng Gouzi.
The two bumped into each other at the entrance.
Bai Yuan hurriedly saluted:
"Saintess, forgive my inadequate skills, but today's militia recruitment went smoothly. We secured over fifty good seedlings."
Gao Yiye smiled.
"You're telling me? I don't understand any of it. Tell Dao Xuan Tianzun when he's around."
Bai Yuan blinked upward—no low clouds.
Dao Xuan Tianzun visibly absent.
No need to report then.
"Alright, then we rest early tonight."
Both headed to their respective rooms.
Only two Bai-family guards and two militia sentries remained in the courtyard.
Then…
Along the low outer wall of the academy, five heads quietly popped up.
The leader was none other than the Fourth Captain of Wang Zuogua's rebels—Lang Si.
With him were four seasoned Jianghu desperadoes—men useless in battle but very talented in the arts of robbery, sneaking, and petty villainy.
One whispered,
"This is where Bai Yuan's staying. Ha. Barely guarded. Only four people."
Lang Si murmured,
"And that woman earlier? Bai Yuan called her 'Saintess'?"
Another replied,
"I checked in town. She's supposedly a Saintess from the Dao Xuan Tianzun Sect. Probably just another Jianghu scammer."
Lang Si snorted.
"In that case, kill her too. Her and Bai Yuan both."
His men nodded eagerly.
"That woman looked decent too… hehehe…"
Their little shared chuckle suggested exactly what kind of men they were.
Lang Si clicked his tongue.
"Focus. We leave the moment it's done."
One of the desperadoes grinned,
"Relax, they're quick. Three seconds, tops. Only I'm slow—need half an hour."
"Shut up!"
The others hissed.
Lang Si growled,
"Enough. Take out those four guards quietly, then rush Bai Yuan's door. Hack him to pieces."
The four thieves nodded and slipped over the wall like shadows, creeping along the courtyard edge.
In moments, they were behind the two Bai-family guards and two militia sentries.
Four blades flashed.
Four bodies dropped—without even a grunt.
Only then did Lang Si hop over the wall, landing smugly.
He pointed at Bai Yuan's room.
The four men nodded and began to advance—
Just then—
Creak.
The door opened.
A young man with a sword at his waist stepped out.
It was Flat-Rabbit.
Lang Si and his men froze.
Flat-Rabbit stared back.
Face to face.
Eye to eye.
Like a man who walked into the wrong theater and found a murder in progress.
He had actually been hiding inside Bai Yuan's room—begging Bai Yuan to teach him swordsmanship.
Bai Yuan, who knew no swordsmanship whatsoever, had spent half an hour trying to chase him out.
Only when Bai Yuan finally lost his patience did Flat-Rabbit get kicked out.
He stepped outside—
—and immediately saw two Bai-family guards and two militia soldiers lying on the ground, dead.
Five unfamiliar men stood poised to break into Bai Yuan's room.
Flat-Rabbit shouted,
"Who are you?!"
Lang Si barked,
"Kill him!"
Four blades flashed as the desperadoes lunged.
Flat-Rabbit's first instinct was to dodge.
But then a thought cut through his fear:
If he dodged, these criminals would rush straight into Bai Yuan's room.
Bai Yuan—who couldn't fight.
Bai Yuan—who was their lord.
He could not dodge.
He had to hold the door.
Steel rang.
Flat-Rabbit drew his sword in a single, crisp motion.
No retreat—he swept forward into the four incoming blades, unleashing a desperate, wide, horizontal slash.
A single strike against four killers.
Ming Context:
Militia systems like Gaojia Village's often relied on young civilians trained in basic weapons. Their real power came from morale and loyalty—not battlefield expertise.